


the glass labyrinth

by erintoknow



Series: Aria-Rough Drafts [39]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Coming Out, Depression, Gen, POV Female Character, POV Second Person, Trans Character, Trans Female Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 08:41:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erintoknow/pseuds/erintoknow
Summary: Your first goal is to secure the regenerator of course. The miracle device that could be your best ticket out of the mess you’ve dug yourself into. There it is, behind glass, under watchful eye. So close. Two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on a  pedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?





	1. Imaginary mind

**Author's Note:**

> title and chapters from [[Labyrinth by Miracle Musical]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=acxW7Al9Ddc)

Take a breath, hold it, let it out. You are not Ariadne Becker. Not here. Not now. You are Adrestia, your suit the color of empty void reflecting no light, cape drawn tight around your shoulders further obscuring your form. Only the mirrored treatment of your helmet betrays you as still human. Still needing to see, still needing to _be_ seen.

Your first goal is to secure the regenerator of course. The miracle device that could be your best ticket out of the mess you’ve dug yourself into. There it is, behind glass, under watchful eye. So close. Two parts to contend with. A central core housing the experimental technology and on apedestal beside in a too-plain looking briefcase. The schematics to assemble the rest of the unit.

What will the finished product look like? Baptismal font or casket?

“Adrestia. Imagine, meeting you here.”

You turn and there’s a moment of disorientation. Since when are you as tall as Dr. Mortum? – You aren’t Jane. Mortum’s expression is cold but polite. You have to assume she knows that you know about her attempts to get Jane to quit. Her plans to do the same. What’s her play here?

You give a slight bow, and mimic the cold curtesy in her voice. “Dr. Mortum.”

“It occurs to me that this is the first we have met in person.”

You spread your arms wide, twirling your fingers. “And now we have. Am I everyth–thing you hoped for, doctor?”

There’s a brief flash of annoyance and then Mortum regains control of her poker face. “You’ve been taking good care of the armor, I see.”

“You did good w–work.”

“I… you’re welcome?” She hadn’t expected that.

Maybe you can still salvage this. Get her back on your side. You let your arms drop to your sides. “Look, I’m… sorry.”

“Sorry?” The confusion is plain in her voice. “For what?”

“I…” You laugh, then cut yourself off with a wince. The voice filter warps everything. “I th–think we got off on the wrong foot.”

Dr. Mortum’s expression hardens, her eyes narrowing. “If you’ve hurt her–”

“Her? Oh.” Shit. This might have backfired. “Doctor, I would _never_ hurt her.”

Does she believe you? You wouldn’t, coming from someone that looks and sounds like you do. This was a mistake. Reaching out is always a mistake. When will you learn?

“So you say,” Dr Mortum confirms your fear. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have business to attend to.” She turns away from you, slips past the gawkers come to check out the auction items ahead of time. You move to follow after her but the crowd doesn’t exactly leap out of your way.

You haven’t exactly been making friends either within Los Diablos’s self-proclaimed ‘villain’ community. Just because you’re all on the wrong side of law now… it doesn’t make you allies. And how many remember Sidestep? You’d swear you recognize a few faces, a few suits. Is that Sharkinator at the bar? You’d recognize the sharkhands anywhere. There’s a blast from the past. When did he get out of Prison?

Are you imagining the eyes burning a hole in the back of your head or are you really being watched? The Boulevard Casino is coated in the hum of telepathic dampeners, a hissing static beyond hearing. If it wasn’t for the physical proximity of the Rat-King, slipping it’s telepathic presence between you and the hum like a shield you’d already be clutching your head in a migraine by now.

Would sneaking in have been better? There’s no point wondering now. You don’t need to worry about evading cameras and security this way. Dampeners, radio jammers, cameras, good old fashioned armed men in fancy suits. Hollow Ground’s security is not messing around.

That’s fine, neither are you.


	2. Imaginary lines

There’s a pressure on your attention, an urging from the Rat-King. You let it turn you, guide your sight. A woman moving through the crowd, tall, taller still by the antlers spiraling up from a helmet in the shape of an antelope skull. She’s armored, head to foot. Brown faux-leather, almost certainly masking proper armor underneath by the bulk of the thing. Gloved hands hide her skin. Her boots are made up to look like cloven hooves that add to her stature.

Not exactly a practical outfit.

Why is the Rat-King pushing you towards her? The dampeners prevent that. Wait, is that.. Oryx? Small time hitman. Or… hitwoman, you suppose. Was supposed to have fled town awhile ago after a job turned bad. Not that you would have had anything to do with that, of course. You don’t have the time in the day to personally meddle in _everyone_’s illegal business.

Something… isn’t right with her though. Her movement is… too smooth? Or not smooth enough. Like she doesn’t belong here. Is she going to be trouble? You need this to go off perfectly, you can’t afford any potential complications.

It’s not hard to pick out her path. She’s sticking to the walls, you could intercept her, pull her into an empty side-room before she reaches the auction hall.

No one even bats an eye as you step out from behind the curtain and grab Oryx by the shoulders, pull her backwards into the room. She grunts, elbows you in the stomach to get free and drops into a combat stance as you step backwards.

You raise your arms, try to control your heart rate. That snarl, the way she balances herself, positions her arms. Jesus christ, it’s Argent behind that mask isn’t it? Just your fucking luck. If she has any sanity she won’t risk a fight here. Not under Hollow Ground’s nose. “I d–don’t want a fight.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

“It’s– it’s easier to to talk in private, w–wouldn’t you say…” You incline your head, exaggerating to make the gesture visible through your helmet, “Argent?” Fuck, you need to get it under the control. Adrestia _can’t_ stutter.

There’s silence, and then Argent crosses her arms with a small laugh. “You’re always the worst.”

You put your arms down, “I’d say the same about you.”

“Well? What do you want?”

“I hope you’re not here for my sake.” What on earth _is_ Argent doing here? Are the Rangers involved? They’re hardly at full strength, would they seriously try to bust something this big? It would be a disaster.

“What is this? Fishing for compliments?” She leans in, “You aren’t nearly that important.”

You put a hand to your chest and laugh, “You wound me.”

“Easy to do.”

You elect to ignore that, “You’re hardly the type for fancy parties. Though…” You tap the chin of your helmet, “I suppose you are better d–dressed this time?”

“Excuse me?”

“It suits you.”

Argent’s voice goes low and cold. “What does that mean.”

Shit, what _do_ you mean? You wave a hand, “Never mind, it’s not important.” You can feel her eyes on you under the mask. “W–w–why are you here?”

Argent doesn’t move, unnaturally still. “Personal business.”

“That business is…?”

“Not yours.”

You huff. It’s an active effort to maintain eye contact even shield as you are. But you don’t dare look away. “So, then who else of your little friends are lurking around here? Who can I expect to find Ortega dressing up as?”

“I don’t need them.” Evasive, obviously, but what _kind_ of evasive?

“Or…” You cross your arms, drum your fingers against your arm. “You don’t want them to know…?”

She shrugs, breaks eye contact. Damn, got it in one. “If you say so. What, you think you can blackmail me about it?”

“Oh, please,” You laugh, “They’d never believe me.” Argent’s already a known loose cannon. And there’s too many ‘heroic’ reasons you could trot out to excuse it. It wouldn’t even be hard.

“That’s true,” Argent shifts position, “Ortega has a lot of faith in her friends.”

You find yourself agreeing. “Too much.” Why can’t she see you for what you are? How can she want that? Care about –that–?

“Hrmm…” Argent steps closer, “must be lonely, not having a team.”

You stay put, ready for any sudden movement. “I’m better off alone.”

“Is that so?” She tilts her head down towards you.

“Other people always let you d–down,” you don’t bother trying to filtering the bitterness out of your voice. Let the distortion do that. “Even if they don’t– don’t want to.” The only person you can trust in the end is yourself. If even that.

“I’m not talking about forever,” she snorts, “just tonight. To stay out of each other’s business.”

“A t–truce?” you ask, incredulous. She seriously doesn’t want a fight then. Just what is Lady Argent doing sneaking into a black market auction hosted by the city’s criminal kingpin? What could _any_ Ranger want here?

And how can you use this to your advantage?

“You’re seriously suggesting a truce?” You repeat.

“For _now_.”

Like hell are you going to let her escape your sight. “Oh r–really now?” You offer her a arm, “then let me be your escort f–for the evening.”

“That isn’t funny.”

“It’s… n–not a joke.” Your let your arm awkwardly drop.

“You’re serious.”

“Easier to–” might as well try honesty, “–to keep an eye on each other that way.”

“…fine.”

“S–so you accept?” You offer your arm again.

“Don’t make me regret this.” Argent sighs, and takes your arm. “Where are we going?”

You laugh, sharp and nervous. No idea what that sounds like on other end of the distorters. Hopefully something more confident than what you’re feeling right now. “W–w–where else would we go? The auction.”


	3. Let the maze of my design carry you on

Will you ever escape the path that was laid out for you? When you were Sidestep you fought against boosts and mods that stepped outside the law. Fought to uphold the very system that had enabled your creation and mistreatment.

Now you’re on the other side of the coin and you’re still pulling on what they taught you. Spying, lying… You let your gaze dance across the room take-in and evaluate. Who might cause trouble? Who can you push? Who to avoid? Thirteen years on and what has really changed for you?

You can never get out. Not really.

Argent stands at your side, dressed as a two-bit murder. It doesn’t seem right. You were wrong, it doesn’t suit her at all. What does she want here so badly she’d lower herself like this? The worry is wriggling like a leech at the back of your mind. At this point there’s not a lot more you can do. Either it becomes clear and you deal with it, or it doesn’t and it never matters.

What does matter is making sure no _other_ surprises catch you unawares. Surprises like–

“Shit.” You whisper.

Argent jerks her head in your direction, shoulders tense. “What?”

No point playing this close to your chest. You had done some research via Jane and Dr. Mortum after your first encounter. Mortum had promised to look into it further once the auction was over but… This isn’t something Argent deserves to run into un-forewarned. “Over there, against the wall.” You quickly gesture with an arm, trying not to look like you’re pointing. “The woman in white and red?”

Argent shifts around to hide looking. “Yeah?”

“Shroud.”

“Who?”

“Ember’s enforcer from San Francisco.”

“Ember…” She growls. Not the reaction you had expected. You have to grab her arm to keep her still. “Stay clear of her. She touches someone, they die. Apparently.”

“Oh.” She steps back into place, looks back at you. “Thank… you…?”

What does Lord Ember want so bad he’d send risk sending one of his scariest agents away to collect it? You really hope it’s not what you’re thinking.

Who are you kidding, you’re not that lucky.

“Why warn me?” Argent stands a little too close for comfort.

“Uh…” Why _did_ you? “Just– just because we’re enemies, it d–doesn’t mean I want you dead.”

“Hrm.” You’re not sure what to make of that, and Argent doesn’t elaborate.

“This is… awkward, r–really.” You confess.

“What?”

“Trading quips in a fight w–was easier than this.” You don’t look at her, watch the crowd, the stage. The auction is well under way at this point. Nothing particular amazing just yet. You keep an eye on the countdown timer ticking away at the corner of your Heads-Up Display. Not much longer until showtime.

She keeps shifting her weight back and forth. That’s why you don’t wear high heels to a standing event, honey. You learned that the hard way as Jane. “It’s easier to judge someone in a fight.”

You glance over at her and she freezes up. Huh. That’s a switch. “And so what’s your judgement on me, then?”

“Jury’s out.” She raises a hand as if to fling back her hair and then stops, tries to turn it into a dismissive hand gesture but there’s no saving that one. “But… I haven’t killed you yet.”

“Not for lack of trying.” You’ve had some close calls those last few fights before you buckled down on this project. God knows you’ve done enough to her, if anyone deserves first shot at taking you out, it’s Lady Argent.

“Oh please. I have been playing.”

“Why?”

Argent sighs, turns her head to focus on the stage instead of you. “I have fun, I guess.” She shrugs. “Fighting you, I mean.”

“I… huh.” If things weren’t awkward before, they are now. Hasn’t she figured it out yet? Who really possessed her? Well, you’re not about to come clean now. Not here, not when you’re so close.

Dr. Mortum’s ‘disintegration’ ray comes up on the stage next, packed into a very fancy clear case. Jane had put in some overtime helping Mortum raise money, liquidate assets, finding buyers… but did the doctor have enough? Even if she does… even at the starting bid, that’s going to hurt her.

You could – you could bid against her, drive the price up even higher. You know more or less what her limit is and you’ve got way more than that to play with. You only needed the money to get inside, she needs it to stay in business. And to potentially turn against you.

Or… or you could try to buy it for her, as a gift? The gun clearly has some sentimental value to her beyond the scientific, she’s said as much. Would gifting it help change her mind? Or would she view it as a bribe? See it for what it was: you trying to buy her respect?

The bidding slowly climbs, and Mortum stays in the game as it goes. Maybe… you should stay out of this one. There’s too many variables. Too many risks.

You’ll only step in if Mortum gets outbid. There. That’s as good a compromise as any.

The bidding ends up in a war between Mortum and woman in a business suite far in the back. You tense up, but no, the woman ultimately folds. Dr. Mortum wins her gun back at a very pretty penny. Good for her. Hopefully this won’t come back to bite you in the ass.

The countdown on your HUD chimes. Getting into the final moments now. You glance to your side to check on Argent and – she’s gone. Fuck! When did that happen? While you were focused on Mortum’s lot? Damn it. There’s no time to track her down now.

As soon as time hits zero, the bomb you rigged on the power substation for the block will go off. Power to the whole block of the city will go down. The casino is bound to have back-up generators but enough to power the whole security system? Dampeners are not energy efficient.

Looks like they’re putting the Regenerator up on stage next. Well, that’s handy. You won’t have to dig around backstage to find it then.

The Regenerator… One-of-a-kind prototype. The company responsible immediately shut-down and all their equipment confiscated. And what can it do? Perfect regeneration. The only way to remove your tattoos is to cut deep enough into the skin, practically flay yourself alive. Even if you lived, you’d be crippled, horrifically scared at best.

But with the regenerator in your hands and fully functioning…

Well, it’d be a whole lot easier than trying to overturn the United States Government.

Final count down now. Then showtime. Breath in, hold, exhale.

5…

You’re not scared. You’re Adrestia.

4…

It’s like leaning out of a window, watching the street below.

3–

A bright flash and a piercing boom rock the auction hall and the crowd cries out in a panic. Your helmet visor dims but not quick enough and the eyes hurt like hell, after images swimming across your vision. Shit! Fuck! You stumble into someone in front of you and they shove you back.

Someone _else_ is robbing the Auction Hall?


	4. See how I circle

The lights flicker overhead before staying dark, and the weight of the dampeners pressing in on you vanishes. There we go, there’s _your_ cue. You hum a few notes under your breath as let you mind unfold, track every panicked presence huddling together. Too much light, now not enough. People are scared. Hollow Ground’s supposed to ensure a neutral territory, and yet here’s trouble.

With the Rat-King backing you up, you reach out and wrap your song around the crowd. A jangle of discordant thoughts. The Rat-King buffers you from the worst of it as you smooth out the edges, point them towards the exit. You don’t need to nudge everyone. Just the key parts and the rest will follow or be swept along.

Everyone here is a criminal, be they boost, mod, or norm. It won’t be the end of the world if it breaks down into a mass panic. But trying to keep them calm is good practice for the next time you’re faced with civilians. There’s no need to fill up any more hospitals.

Back in the physical world you slowly push your way against the flow of the crowd. Up to the stage. The emergency lighting comes on, casting the room in grim shadows. You brace yourself for any hint of the dampeners but it doesn’t come. Good, you guessed right then. Even with back-up generators, cut off from the main grid the Boulevard Casino doesn’t have enough power to handle everything.

There’s still too many people. Hardened villains thinking about how to turn the chaos to their own advantage. Is it an attack? Earthquake? Is Hollow Ground losing their touch? How can this benefit me?

You can’t risk any interference. Reach out again, second chorus, worst than the first. Reach in deeper, into the darker spaces. It’s an incoherent barrage from a dozen different traumas and the Rat–King has to pull tight around your mind to keep you from collapsing, from reeling back in shock and snapping the connection.

You can do this. Raise the conductor’s baton, pull it all forward.

Pull them _out._

Get _out_.

_Go!_

Someone screams and the rest of the crowd starts to move. No calm to it now. Well, you tried. Someone shoves you aside, and oh yeah, physical bodies are still a thing. Switch to low-light vision and the visor tints everything green as you make the rest of the way to the stage. Get back in the game Chickadee.

As you’re about to climb onto the stage, the Rat King pings your attention.

“Dr. Mortum?” You move over to her, and she takes a step back, hand falls on something on her hip. Shouldn’t be surprised the doctor would have hi-tech glasses. Try to get a read on her thoughts and it’s like grasping at a nest of eels. Multiple tracks going a mile a minute. Maybe in another setting you could pry them apart, but you can’t spare the focus now.

“Adrestia.” Her voice is cold, but shaky. Putting on a mask. “This is your doing, isn’t it?”

“Goodness. Y–you think highly of me, don’t you?” You hold out your arms to the side, no hidden tricks up your sleeves. “What are you still d–doing here?”

She doesn’t relax. “Your little light show went off right when I was collecting my gun. I need to find it.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m not leaving without it.” She sounds serious. Must be to have resisted your mental push both times.

You shrug, try to play off your concern. “I’ve got my own business, but if I find it… I’ll keep it safe. But it won’t be any good if its owner gets herself killed tonight.”

“What are you planning?”

“Nothing.” You turn away from her. “I can’t speak for anyone else though.” You can already sense them, multiple people are on the stage. Prelude to a fight. What are the odds you can grab the regenerator and slip out while they’re busy killing each other?

Ignore the eyes staring daggers into your back as you clamber onto the stage. “Ah, fuck.” There’s a stare-down going alright. Lady Argent, still in Oryx costume is standing between Shroud and… fuck, that’s one of Hollow Ground’s men. Jake Manalo? Jane’s only encountered him briefly. He’s some kind of boost but hell if anyone can give a straight answer as to what. His thoughts are fuzzy, out of focus. Shroud’s are walled, a barrier with the sensation of metal to touch. Only Argent is readable to any extent. Damn.

Try to skirt around the edge, circle back to the regenerator. Wait. Is that Mortum’s gun on the ground? Can you you grab it without being noticed… No luck. Jake spots you, hunches his shoulders. “Adrestia, come join the party. And step away from the merchandise.”

Argent glances back towards you and everything goes to hell.

Shroud makes her move, going after Argent. Argent dodges the outstretched hand, claws slicing through her gloves as she twists to strike back.

Fuck.

Dash across the stage, to grab Mortum’s gun, tossing the case aside like a candy wrapper. Mortum’s gun doesn’t actually _kill_ people does it? It just… stores them for… later. That’s too handy an ace to ignore right now

Jake has left the two women to duel it out in order to chase after you. But whatever Jake’s got, he doesn’t have a powered suit with booster jets. You dash past him, dropping into a slide under his outstretched arm. You come to a stop by the Regenerator, spin on your heel and drop a knee. If you can take out Jake now, maybe you can abscond with the prize while the other two are duking it out.

How does this damn thing work? Hell, when was the last time you used _any_ gun? There’s a light blinking on the side. Battery? As long as there’s enough charge for one shot. You’ll work out the rest later.

Someone off stage yells as you line up your shot. Hold your breath, sight, finger on the trigger… there’s a loud bang and every nerve in your body lights up in terror.


	5. In the glass labyrinth, I am the mouse

The gun drops out of your hands, clattering on the stage. How? Why? What is that _thing_ doing here? Taller then any one else here, stretching its multiple arms, both organic and metallic up in the air. In the green haze of your low-light vision it could have stepped directly out of one of your nightmares, but no. Very much real. Very much alive. But… something isn’t right. The Catastrofiend’s movements are sluggish and while her skin was in never in great condition to begin with, it looks… wrong? Melted? Skin or clothing? There’s no seam.

Is… this where the Catastrofiend been all this time? Trapped in Dr. Mortum’s teleportation gun? Did she know that when she asked Jane for help in getting it back?

In the back of your mind the Rat-King screams at you to move.

Dive to the left and a blade stabs the ground where you were kneeling. Mortum’s gun rattles on the floor and you manage the presence of mind to grab hold of it again, clipping it back of your belt. In front of you, the Catastrofiend groans, a sickly bubbling sound as she clutches her vestigal human arms to her chest, her other 4 arms unfold and stretch out. Exposed muscle twining into metal, each limb ending in a long razor sharp blade. Like the rest of her, the blades are warped, discolored, wrong.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

“What the _fuck_ is this!?” Shroud yells. The Catastrofiend gurgles and turns to swipe at her. She leaps backwards, almost toppling over.

You need to get out of here.

“It’s the goddamn Catastrofiend.” Jake snarls. At the sound of his voice, the monster turns and swipes at him too. Something… happens, Jake goes blurry and the blade passes through him like air. No time to think about what that could mean.

Argent snarls, razor claws at the ready. “How the hell did it get in here?” When the Catastrofiend turns to swipe at her, she’s ready, stepping in under the arm, slashing at the skin. _Something_ oozes out, but it doesn’t look like blood.

Is it responding to sound? Can she still see? How the hell long was it in there for? Mortum mentioned something about… quantum degradations right…? Your stomach twists. And you were seriously thinking of using it on someone?

With the Catastrofiend taking precedence, a truce seems to settle out. Jake, Argent, and Shroud triangulating. around her. You’ve seen the monster nearly come out on top against the entire Rangers team at their height before. It’s only a matter of time before they break ranks and run. You’ve seen the Catastrofiend survive being shot in the head, even as… _wrong_ as it is, there’s no way the three of them are beating this.

This is your chance.

Two parts to the device, don’t forget. The briefcase gets attached to your suit’s utility belt next to Mortum’s gun. The prototype itself… it’s bulky, you’ll have to carry it with two hands. You wrap your song tight around yourself, willing the chaos to let you pass by unnoticed. In the back of your mind, you can feel the Rat-King echo you back, magnify the sentiment.

You get your hands under the rough metal edges and heave it into the air. Don’t look. Nothing to see here. Don’t look this way. The battle with the Catatstrofiend is way more pressing, isn’t it? Absolutely.

You don’t breath again until you’re well behind stage. A scattering of items that still haven’t been sold off remain, abandoned in the chaos. They’ll notice you’re gone eventually. But will they have the luxury to chase after you? Banking on your luck doesn’t seem like a smart move.

This part of the Casino is well beyond anything you got to scout in-person as Jane. You’ve spent plenty of time studying the schematics however. You can imagine the red line guiding you alone. Into the backstage hallway, hang a right, there’s a room here. Storage closet. Crouch down just outside and put the prototype aside.

Time to put the Nanovores to work, outstretching your hand against the floor, eating through metal supports and vinyl tiles until the indigestible remains of floor begin to fracture and give way. Slap the floor hard with your hand and it drops into something deeper below.

This part of town is shot through with old smuggling tunnels from the Prohibition era. Illegally dug little boltholes, cramped but big enough to fit crates of alcohol. Earthquake country means they’re near suicide to use. Which is why you spent over a week a making sure this tunnel would be usable.

Never let the enemy set the field if you can help it.

At the end of this tunnel is Rosie and the get-away truck. You’re almost there. you can do this.

Once the hole is sufficiently wide, you pick up the prototype. There’s noise coming from down the hallway. Pursuers or just echoing from the fight? You can’t tell. Doesn’t matter, it’s time to jump. A hole this time, not a window, but your heart leaps into your throat all the same.


	6. See how I fly away

Your booster jets dampen the fall, but the shock rattles up every joint along your legs regardless. The cart you had prepared ahead of time is right where you left it, save for a scattering of debris. You put the prototype down on the cart and sweep it clean in one motion.

Take a breath. Home stretch. Next step is to get to the first support joist and start the process of collapsing the tunnel behind you.

The tunnel is damp, and crowded, and dark dark dark. You tap on the clip-on flashlight on your utility belt, a tiny narrow cone cutting into the void. It’s not much but it gives your low-light vision something more to work with.

The floor is lumpy, uneven. It makes pushing the cart painfully slow and uncomfortably noisy. With more time you could have smoothed out the floor, but the time constraint on planning this operation had been absurdly tight as it was. Once your far enough away you can start collapsing the tunnel behind you and it won’t–

Scratches against stone echo behind you and the Rat-king screams for you to move. Only to flinch and clutch your head under the weight of the dampeners pressing back down on you. Something runs across your back and you stagger forwards against the handle of the cart as you cry out. Turn and catch the silhouette of Oryx’s horned mask.

“Are you k–k–kidding me–” You suck in your breath as she swipes at you again, press yourself against the wall as silver claws rend the air where you had just been. Did she cut through your suit? Everything still reads green.

There’s a snarl and you throw your heads up, “Wait, wait, hold on–” If Argent could track you down here, the rest of them can’t be too far behind. “L–let’s talk?”

Argent stares you down, your flashlight bouncing off her silver frame. Shoulders hunched, hands ready to swipe.

“We had a truce.”

She doesn’t relax, but doesn’t attack either. “Only as long as it was convenient.”

“You know w–what’s inconvenient? Getting caught.” The return of the dampeners is a significant problem as well, but Argent doesn’t need to know that one. How did they get them back on so quickly?

The tension drags out entirely too long before Argent drops her hands to her sides. “Then what are you saying?”

“If we fight here we risk them finding us, or worse, damaging this thing.” You gesture behind you. “Let’s… get out of here, then w–we can decide if we’re going to k–kill each other or whatever.”

Argent narrows her eyes, flexing her fingers. Quickest of glances behind her, an opening you don’t take. “Fine.” She sighs, “No tricks, I’ve got your number.”

Oh thank god she can be reasoned with. “Come on, help me push, it’ll go f–faster with both of us.” You move to one side, making space for Argent. She scrunches her nose up, giving you a once over and then steps up beside you, grabbing the handle. Together you trundle through the dark.

“How far?”

“A distance but–” you watch her from the side, “we’re close to a checkpoint I set up to–to–to collapse the tunnel behind me.”

She snorts. “Dangerous.”

“Y–yeah well…” try to keep the emotion out of your voice, “it’d be a bother if someone chased after.”

“Too bad for you.”

“Too bad for me.”

The two of you continue along in silence. Pushing the cart is much easier now with Argent’s help. Silence is dangerous however. Too many unanswered questions, such as: “What uh– what happened with the Catastrofiend?”

“Ran. Chased it, found you instead.”

“W–well… fuck.”

“How did that thing get in there?”

“N–n–no idea.” You lie, more than a little anxious that you can’t pick up whether she bought it or not. You still have Mortum’s gun. Should you– no, no, who knows what else might come flying out. And suppose it did work, what would you even…? No. It’s not an option.

The dampeners begin to lighten as you continue further down, gone by the time you reach a split in the passage, joists in holding up the ceiling. Small miracles. “Hold on.” You brush your head over the frame, nanovores reducing it to dust under your hand. The ceiling begins to shift and you grab the cart with Argent again. “Come on, let’s move.”

“Cute trick.”

Would it be gauche to thank her for? Does she know? This isn’t the time to risk it. You can’t bring Argent straight to Rosie. Too dangerous. No, instead, take the other path as the ceiling collapses behind you. This path ends in a brick wall, easily kicked down.

The room on the other side is pitch black as the two of you clamber through. A basement. Old, abandoned. No sense of any other minds nearby. Once you’re above ground you can just radio Rosie. But first you have someone to deal with.

Argent lets go of the cart, turning to face you. “So we both wanted the same thing. Lucky us.” You can feel it now, without the dampeners to mask everything. She’s desperate for this.

“So…” You stall for time as you try to get a read on her thoughts. “You know what this is, w–what it can do.”

Argent hunches her shoulders, reading to move. “So do you.”

“It needs to–to be assembled.” You reach back to pat the briefcase hanging from your belt. “What, are you planning to set it up at the Rangers?”

“Don’t be absurd. This is black tech.” Argent huffs. “Even my leash has limits.”

“Leash?” You shake your head. No time to unpack that one. “W–well, I’ve got a place to assemble it safely.”

“And you know how to do that?”

“Do you?”

“Whatever, that isn’t even the biggest problem here.” Evading the question? Interesting. Argent pulls off her helmet, shaking out her silver hair with a grimace on her face. “This is.”

You take a step back, cross your arms. “W–what is?”

“Us.” Argent gestures between the two of you, “this is going to take time to bring online. Weeks… maybe?” She shakes her head. “I’m not letting it leave my sight.”

“Same.” Too much is riding on this.

Argent barks out a laugh. “Why? You already have secrets you can lord over me… you know what I did: the masquerade, breaking and entering–”

“Oh please, d–d–don’t be stupid.” You wave it away, “I know the Rangers. You could explain it all away in a heartbeat. Infiltrating a villain hangout? Retrieving black tech? They’ll give you a f–fucking medal.” Is she really that scared of being found out? _Why?_

“And you? What, am I supposed to just trust someone hiding behind a mask?” Her voice is razor sharp, “You’re a telepath.” You wince under your helmet. “you manipulate everyone and everything around and… I don’t even know what you would want it?”

Her thoughts are barbed, hard to read but… she wants to trust you. Doesn’t want to blow this chance. But why would she? Why would anyone trust you? Ever?

You can’t tell her who you are. Not here, not now. If you were _lucky_ she’d just kill you. She’s earned it, certainly. More likely you’ll have to go into hiding, abandon any pretense of the civilian life you’ve slowly been reclaiming. And that’s… Isn’t that what you’ve been trying to do? What keeps holding you back?

Argent is getting antsy. You need to say something before she just goes for it and attacks. Maybe you’d win, but damaging the prototype is a risk you’d rather avoid. You can’t exactly come clean about _why_ you need it either. If she treats you with any modicum of respect now, then it’s because she’s operating under the mistaken assumption that you’re human.

The very thought of risking that, of letting it go. Of never seeing Julia again, or worse– You can feel your heartbeat quicken. Fuck. God damnnit. You’re trapped.

No matter what you do, you’re going to have to trust her with _something_.


	7. dying to get out

Your hands are shaking as you reach up, find the clasps of your helmet. Across from you, Argent tenses up but doesn’t attack. Why the hell are you doing this? Except – she deserves to know. And what do you have left of your civilian life left at this point anyway? You knew this couldn’t last forever.

The display goes dark as you pop the helmet from the seal, disconnected from the rest of the suit. Your gut twists, a sharp pain as you struggle to keep your breathing under control. You feel sick. Unreal, like you’ve stepped outside yourself. This is such a stupid idea.

You can feel the Rat-King curl around you, trying to protect you from the danger. Joke’s on it, the biggest danger to you here is yourself.

Can barely see as you pull the helmet up, over, hold it in your hands in front of you. In this dim gloom you can’t read Argent’s face, only her mind. Quiet, struggling to process what she’s seeing. She steps toward you and you step back.

“Ariadne Becker.” If there was any doubt about her being able to see in the dark, it’s gone now. All that effort into avoiding her, and you’ve blown it in one go.

“G–got it in– in one.”

Can see her cross her arms through the gloom, shift her weight. “It wasn’t Locus, was it Ariadne?” She snarls. You can feel the fury building up in her head, leaking out through her composure. Didn’t she promise to eviscerate the person responsible?

Die now or die later, might as well jump.

“Y–yes.” You can’t look at her as you say it. “I’m sorry–”

She moves on, grabbing you by the front of your armor claws digging. Panic takes over and you drop your helmet trying to get free, only for white to explode across your vision as your head is rocked hard to the left, pain searing across the right side of your face. Her hand is the only thing holding you upright.

“Don’t you _dare_ try apologizing to me.”

“It– it was w–wrong, I–”

The second slap hits you on the left side of your face, there’s a ringing in your ears, and you can taste copper from biting your tongue. To call her ‘mad’ undersells the storm of emotion radiating off her. Is she going to kill you? Maybe. Of all the beatings you’ve taken in your life, there’s no question you deserve this one.

“I–I–I’m sorry.” You swallow hard, fighting back nausea. “I shouldn’t have– I mean I– I know what it’s– what it’s like and I…” You’re babbling now. Too many words desperate to get out at once.

Her hand comes down again, hard. You can really taste the blood now. “Don’t you fucking _dare_ compare yourself to me.” She growls in your face, as she raises her hand, pulling it back into a fist, and you try not to flinch. Brace yourself. When the blow doesn’t come you open your eyes.

Her hand hovers an inch away from your skin. “You used me.”

“I–I–I did.”

From the corner of your eye you can see her uncurl her fist, fingers slowly elongating into claws, piercing through the glove. “I should kill you.”

“It– It would be… pretty easy right now.” Your heart is pounding, mouth tasting copper, and throat feeling sticky. The Rat–King in the back of your head is screaming at you to do something but this… You don’t fight back, don’t struggle. This is too familiar. Memories of other times, other, brighter rooms. For everything you’ve tried to change, you’re still were you started.

If she did you in now, does the thing you can’t bring yourself to go through with… then isn’t that a victory for everyone really?

“I could do it…” Her hand is shaking, doubts unraveling in her mind. “I should…”

“Then do it already!” You cough, as she lets you go and you stagger backwards, hit the brick wall and try to hold yourself up. “I thought you– why hesitate?”

“Shut up!” She hisses through clenched teeth and comes at you again. This time her hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to send alarm bells. “You really want to die that badly, Becker?” You can feel it running through her head, all the little fantasies she had constructed about this moment.

Your vision blurs as you laugh. “Y–yeah, actually.”

Can feel something sharp poke against your neck, and then just as suddenly it’s gone. Argent hisses air through clenched teeth. “Don’t be a coward.” She touches her other hand to your face, one nail scratching just under your eye.

“W–what?”

“You don’t deserve to get off that easy.”

A line of white fire runs down your face, blinding you in your left eye. Blink, and your vision is back but bloody. You can feel the cut run from forehead to check. Hurts like hell, can already feel the blood running down your face. This is going to need stitches.

She lets go of you, pushing you back against the wall as she steps away. Licking the blood off her finger, she glares at you. “That was for using me. Don’t ever go into my head again.”

You slide to the floor. This… this really just happened. “I–I don’t do that kind of thing anymore.” There’s no way you’ll every be able to explain it, is there? But then, it’s not really about you, is it?

“Shut up.” Argent snaps. “You said you can put it together?”

You nod your head. You hope you aren’t over-estimating your ability.

“Then put it together. Don’t even _think_ about double-crossing me on this.” Her smile in the dim glow of your suit’s flashlight is cold and all teeth. “Don’t worry, Becker.” She puts a finger to her lips. “This’ll be our secret.”

She turns away from you and stalks up the stairs to find her way out of whatever building this is a basement of. As she turns she moves her hand from her mouth out to the side, transitioning into giving you the middle finger as she departs.

You sit there against the wall until her footsteps fade and you lose track of her mind. Gingerly you touch a hand to your face, hiss at the fresh sting of pain. Still bleeding. Will absolutely need stitches. Probably end up a scar.

Well, it’s not like you don’t have plenty of experience covering those up.

Except… maybe you’ll let this one be.


End file.
